At this point, Ford feels very much like a ragdoll, the way he's being manhandled and moved around all over the place. Normally he'd mind, but at this moment in time he's almost grateful for it because fuck if he knows if he could actually get anywhere under his own power without stumbling and bashing his already-fucked head on something.

So, when Stan moves him around and makes him sit the hell down before he crashes, Ford's almost grateful. "Almost" being the keyword, because Stan seems to be having a nervous meltdown and guilt and alarm are taking precedence right now. He should have locked that goddamn door - he's going to be kicking himself about that for as long as he lives.

"Stanley--" He tries to catch his brother's attention, but his voice has gone quiet on him and he can't very well reach out to snag his sleeve when he's over there pacing like a caged animal.

He tries anyway, doesn't even make it remotely close to reaching Stan's shirt, and gives up after the one attempt.

Thankfully, Stan is a panicky bundle of energy right now, and he's quick to spin back around and take hold of his brother's face just to make sure he hears every last terrified word said to him. This time, when Ford reaches to take hold of Stan's sleeve, he actually succeeds. His fingers curl around the careworn fabric in an attempt to bring comfort to them both - to Stan, by assuring him that he's still here, still aware of what's going on, and to himself because...well, his brother's hand is a bit occupied right now and it's the closest thing to a lifeline he has to hold onto.

"There's a - on the counter, there's an electrocauter."

As it turns out, he did have a plan other than hoping the wound fixed itself, though it's probably not one Stanley likes any better.

"It's faster than stitches." He adds in explanation, as if that somehow makes the prospect of scorching his flesh closed any more palatable.